


Ascension

by enigmaticdrblockhead



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 13:33:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11276307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticdrblockhead/pseuds/enigmaticdrblockhead
Summary: I murdered him. I murdered my father.That’s what it is to be human.





	Ascension

There are 3 classes in this world, this new world. Class H, Class H-, and of course Class A. In this society only two classes matter. In any system there’s a hierarchy, I’m told it’s just the nature of man. Not that I’d know, or at least not fully. I suppose I should explain.

Class H stands for ‘humans.’ Class H- technically means ‘human-less,’ although a long time ago we were referred to as ‘hybrids.’ Yes, I said ‘we’ because that’s what I am. I am ‘human-less’ or as some would say ‘less than human.’ As you can probably guess, Class H is the top of the hierarchy. And the bottom? Class A, ‘alien.’ As I said, in this society only Class H and Class H- have any real value, Class A is more or less an identification warranting capture and elimination: a death sentence. They are also our fathers.

Of course, if you really want to get down to the nitty gritty of it there are numbers attached to the two classes. I’ve never paid much mind to the numbers associated to those of Class H, mostly because it doesn’t matter to me. Regardless of the number they are of a higher status. For us, Class H-, there are only two numbers: 0 and 1. 

Those who are 0, ‘zeros,’ are just that. They are nothing; however, as some members of Class H say, we are a vast mine of potential waiting to be filled. We all are ‘zeros,’ until we reach the moment when we become 1, ‘ones.’ It is when our ascension comes that we are honored as ‘ones.’ 

From an outsider looking in, our ascension may be viewed as rather morbid. But we’re taught to rejoice at the moment when we reach this moment in our lives. The moment when we can cast aside that which has made us ‘less than human,’ and embrace our rebirth into humanity. In reality, it is when we murder our fathers.

-x-

When I was 4-years-old I saw my first ascension. It was a nine-year-old boy, I watched his hands shaking as he debated his choice. He chose a handgun. Slowly, his feet dragged on past the weapon room and into the ascension room. Some were grinning in anticipation for his moment, I saw others eyes widen to the point I thought they’d burst out of their skulls. We all held our breath as he stopped in from of the creature. 

Being my first viewing, I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect. We were taught the moment we could listen that Class A, aliens, were monsters responsible for humanity’s decimation. And that it was those chosen few remaining who were given the duty to rectify the destruction brought down on the human race. 

They would pound it in to our heads, whisper it in our dreams: monsters, demons, murderers.

And we were taught to hate that part of ourselves, but also that we were capable of redemption, by destroying them. Our ascension.

His hand raised the gun at the being. I was surprised at how human it looked. Clad in all black, with its hands bound behind its back, and a white mask with small slits for eyes. I watched it struggle in his restraints, but taken aback by the silence. While the mask hid its face, it likely also hid a gag that stifled his screams. Or deception, as we were taught to belief.

BANG!

I’d never heard anything so loud in my entire life. I thought my heart had stopped. Some of the younger children began to sniffle and sob, terrified of the sound. The older ones sneered and even laughed at ‘the enemy’s’ defeat. The adults in the back, the Class H, were quiet only for a moment then they all began to clap. Then one stepped up to congratulate the boy on his departure from his alien legacy, he was now a ‘one.’ A citizen worthy of being a part of the human society.

-x-

I was eight when I first met my mother. Well actually, the first time I remember meeting my mother. She was kind and loved me despite of my alien weakness. At night, when I grew fearful of the factitious monsters lurking in the dark, she would welcome me in her arms and hum some nameless tune while stroking my hair.

I was twelve when I first disappointed my mother. As time went by, I noticed the others reach their ascension, and I began to realize that there were only a handful of ‘zeros’ remaining, and I was one of them. After a very long lesson regarding our impurity and the futility of living a fulfilling life lest we remove our imperfections, I was hopeful that my mother would share in my frustration and my desire to become like her. I watched her smile fade and her eyes grow cold.

I couldn’t speak, I thought of leaving to return to my room, but she stopped me and held me. My mother was a strong woman, I never saw her integrity waver or her honor compromised, but in that moment I saw a frail woman. I saw her weakness and vulnerability: my father.

-x-

I never thought the day would come. At seventeen I have almost resigned my fate to forever being a ‘zero.’ To be honest, a part of me has been dreading this day. After seeing so many ascensions I’ve grown weary. I’m not sure what I find more disturbing; seeing a child murder their father, or living in a society that welcomes such an act. I find it almost humorous that in order for us ‘zeros,’ us nothings to surmount to human-status, we must murder.

It’s true, I live in a fucked up world, and now my day has come. I looked for my mother all morning, but she was surprisingly absent. Despite my pleading, she never spoke of my father, despite the looks I always saw in her eyes, she not once uttered his name. I know it pained her, just as much as I’m sure this day must. But it’s too late now, my moment has come and she is nowhere to be found.

They lead me into the weapon room and wait for me to choose. Guns. No I hate guns. I never want to hear that sound again. Swords. Antiquated. Who am I King fucking Arthur? Daggers. Saws. Hooks. What the fuck?! A spear. Provides the intimacy of a direct blow with your target, but the fortunate aspect of allowing distance between your prey. Does one consider the farther the distance the less the sin? 

I grab it. Looking at it more closely, it’s more similar to a halberd than a spear, how medieval. I guess I am King Arthur.

It’s heavier than I thought. Due to its cumbersome shape, it drags on the floor shrieking a horrible cry. I stop in the middle of the room. There are no children or older youths to watch. Was I the last?

The lights are dimmed, and there are multiple Class H observers watching in the shadows. I’m alone in the poorly lit center, but not for long.

They bring him in. To be honest I’m not sure what I was expecting. As a boy I dreamt about this day, but as I grew in my mother’s always watchful eyes, I began to fear this moment.

He must be weak, either that or they drugged him. His feet drag towards me and his masked face hangs low. He trips on a bump in the carpet and tumbles at my feet. The father kneeling before the son. The two men forcefully sit him up, but keep him on his knees, then they step back. His head spins for a second or two then it stops, and he looks up at me.

The way his body lunges forward every second or two, tells me that he’s out of breath or perhaps he’s in pain. The blanche, plastic mask with small slits fixates on me. It doesn’t stop and he doesn’t struggle. He isn’t shaking or attempting to break free like all the others. He just breaths and watches me.

_Stop it. Stop watching me. Look down. Look away. Don’t watch me in this moment. The moment where I kill you._

We were taught young that they can hear us, that they are capable of knowing our thoughts. And that if their mouths aren’t bound, they can deceive us, using our own minds against ourselves. Of course we were all capable of such things and more, but as infants we were ‘altered’ to prevent this.

_Can you hear me? Do you know what I have to do? I have to do this! I’m sorry. I don’t know if you deserve this. I don’t know you. I don’t know if you’re a monster that we’re all taught to think that you are. But I have to do this, to break free of this servitude. To become something, to become human. Can you hear me? If you can then please, please, forgive me. Forgive me for what I have to do._

My mind is racing; my thoughts aren’t making sense. But I have to do this. I have to!

_Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, forgiveme, forgiveme, forgivemeforgivemeforgive-_

It’s a disgusting sound; metal piercing flesh. It’s pushed deep into his chest, and he falls to his side. His body is lunging forward, likely in a desperate attempt to salvage what little life he can salvage.

I kneel down. No one has ever done this. I know, I’ve seen them all. No one ever looks, no one ever cares, to see their victim, their father.

But I have to, I have to know. I have to see this ‘monster.’

I slowly pull off the mask. I’m taken aback at how human he looks. Strong features, brown hair that’s a shade or two darker than mine. There’s a black cloth tied, gagging his mouth. I untie it, expecting him to curse my name or condemn my existence. But he says nothing, only gasping for air. 

His eyes though, through all this, his eyes never leave me. They’re quite lovely actually, I’m almost disappointed that I hadn’t inherited them instead of my mother’s. I’d expected them to be black pits embodying the darkness that these ‘monsters’ originate from. But they aren’t. Imbued with strands of starlight buried in a brown hue. They are human eyes, bearing not hatred, but love.

In his eyes, I see him and his love for me.

His lips curve into a smile and he says my name in a soft, nearly unintelligible, whisper.

**William.**

For a moment there is only silence. Then he dies and suddenly I hear the thunderous clapping of those watching, waiting to commemorate my ascension. The sounds of joy are so loud and overbearing that I can barely hear the sobs of my mother, who unbeknownst to me has been watching. But it doesn’t matter, none of it matters, I can only think of one thing.

I murdered him. I murdered my father.

That’s what it is to be human.


End file.
